


Hellwalker

by kuzumakisai



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Lance (Voltron), Blood and Gore, Cursed Lance (Voltron), Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, LOTS of violence, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, characters are morally ambiguous, demon prince's, gets sent back in time (i.e. like 3 years), he's not afraid to kill some demons, in fact he finds it fun, meets keith in a tattoo shop in an...interesting fashion, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-24 21:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzumakisai/pseuds/kuzumakisai
Summary: Lance is covered in dirt and blood and the gore of fallen demons. It's a chaotic hellscape, the land lit by fire; consumed by smoke and ash. He rises with a hand pressed to his ribs and a finger on the trigger of his gun, the barrel newly stocked and loaded. Around him, crawling and screeching and going for the kill, are the creatures from the rift.





	1. Rust, Dust & Guts

 

* * *

 

 

_How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn. But you are brought down to the realm of the dead, to the depths of the pit._

 

* * *

 

 

 

**-L-**

 

Lance is covered in dirt and blood and the gore of fallen demons. It's a chaotic hellscape, the land lit by fire; consumed by smoke and ash. He rises with a hand pressed to his ribs and a finger on the trigger of his gun, the barrel newly stocked and loaded. Around him, crawling and screeching and going for the kill, are the creatures from the rift.

He swings his gun and fires without care, bullets slamming into skulls and stomachs. Blood splatters all around but the sky is already red, sunlight covered by thick clouds that never drift away. Lance grimaces, arms having long since gone numb from overuse and fatigue.

"Sam?" He shouts, "Tif?"

"Almost there." Tif huffs in his ear piece, the sound of her old truck engine loud in the background, "We'll get ya, just hold on!"

Lance lets out a laugh, though it is breathy and scratchy. "Right. I'll just-" He shoots a strong dose, cutting holes through a huge demon on the outskirts. "I'll just keep these guys busy. Don't worry about me, we're havin' _so_ much fun!"

Sam barks a laugh, "Just shut up and focus, man."

Lance grins and lowers his gun to slam in a new round, listening to the telltale clicks and shifts in adjustment. Once he's loaded, he begins a fresh assault. The demons fall in piles, the way they climb over the ruins of the city once freakish, now a normality. Lance feels close to nothing as he sends them back to hell.

He wasn't always so stoic, of course. In the beginning, when the rift first opened, he was just as scared as everyone else. Terror was a shot through his chest, leaving him gasping and falling to the ground from the force of the sonic boom. Waves and waves of heat blew through the city streets, shattering windows and flipping cars and throwing people from their feet. Lance landed on his ass, hands digging into the cement on the sidewalk, glass cutting his face from the bakery windows behind him. Looking up, he saw only one beam of light before the ground began to shake, crumbling into the core of the world. Buildings vanished, quakes ruptured gas lines and caused explosions; fires raged and bridges sank to the depths.

At the time, Lance could only run. He'd scrambled to his feet as fast as he could and he pushed through the screaming crowds, not bothering to look back as he heard unholy screeches fill the air.

"Rounding the corner now." Tif says.

Lance can hear her engine closer, even the squelches as her tires run over fallen bodies and ram into those still trying to move. He hears her heavy music and there is a flash of light, the telltale shine of headlights washing over the carnage. Tires screech as the truck comes to a stop, metal spikes protruding from the doors, windows barred but spaced enough to allow the barrel of a gun. Shots ring out to match Lance's own and he starts to back toward safety, grin turned down in a frown in the midst of his concentration.

"C'mon!" Sam shouts, though now the voice doesn't come from the small mic in Lance's ear. He's closer, probably climbing onto the roof of the truck to gain better sight.

Lance hurries as fast as he can, boots sliding in flesh and bone. He's almost there, he can practically feel the vibrations of Tif's music at his back, when _it_ happens. There is a rumble, bone-deep and aching. It makes Lance falter, his eyes cast forward as all the remaining demons slow their assault. They turn, one by one, grotesque features lighting in awe. Or pain. Lance can't really tell. All he knows is the roll of his stomach in nausea, the high pitched whistle echoing around the decrepit city; traveling against a hollow hum. In the background, somewhere close, he can hear Tif and Sam screaming at him to run.

But Lance is frozen. His gun hangs limp in his hand as the air morphs. Dark shadows look like sludge, like oil thick with the grime in the streets, twisting and sliding in serpentine motion. It spins and grows gargantuan, sending out wave after wave of pressure and hot wind. And, of course, the smell of rancid rot. It reminds Lance of the first breach in the rift, the way he'd gagged as he ran.

Now, instead of a horde, there is only a foot that steps through. It's clawed but humanoid, ankle slim. Unlike the demons surrounding him, the figure is not entirely deformed. Long legs hold up a lithe abdomen, scaled like a dragon reflecting lava on brimstone. Fingers are abnormally long, clawed and black just like the toes, golden circlets digging into upper arms. There is no mouth, a gaping hole where their heart should be, groin void of sexual organs. Long red hair floats as if suspended under water, eyes shining gold, only the slit of a red iris visible. It takes Lance a moment to realize the demon's eyes are on _him_. As it fully enters the mortal world, the demon spreads wings that ooze and burn the ground like acid.

And on its head, wrapping around fiery hair, is a crown of deepest onyx.

Whispers fill the air and the demons immediately drop to the ground, bowing their heads until their faces are pressed flat. Lance feels his own knees wobble but he holds strong, flesh rising in goosebumps; pupils dilated.

 _"You are strong."_ The voice whispers, warping and slithering, echoing like the whistle that still travels around the city. _"I have been watching you."_

"Who-" Lance furrows his brows, feeling as if he were outside of his body. Nothing feels real. The blood on his face trickles like rain, feeling hot. Warm. _Comforting_. "Who are you-"

 _"You kill my kin with hatred in your heart. I can feel it now. It pleases me."_ The demon hovers, feet pointed toward the ground. The wings beat but other than the air from the rift, there is no wind. _"Surely you know who I am."_

Lance reflects, trying to pull information from the muddle in his brain. He takes a step forward but he doesn't even realize it, not even bothering to look down at the demons who cower in his wake. "I don't know who you are." He mutters.

 _"I am legion!"_  The demon suddenly hisses, sounding like locusts, like thousands of angry voices.

The words are a blade. They slice Lance open, leave his guts hanging, his shock making him stumble and stop his dazed stride. _Legion_. Or, to be more specific, demonic royalty. 

"What do you want from me?" Lance whispers, fingers suddenly wrapping tight around his gun again. He feels a renewed strength rising. The demon prince notices and if they could smile, Lance thinks they'd be grinning wide.

 _"Join us."_ The prince sounds excited, _"It is an honor to take my hand."_

Lance glances at their extended fingers, at the way the claws curve upward. Their palm is open, a single symbol embedded into the flesh.

Lance sneers, "Never."

At this, the prince laughs. It's a dark sound, swallowing Lance up and leaving him to drown.

 _"Then you will return here as one of us."_ The prince says, _"I will give you the opportunity to grow. To become what you are meant to be. It will take time, your glorious transformation. But when you find yourself here, at the end of all things, you will come to me as a **God**."_

Now, the whispers return deeper in tone, ancient by the click of the tongue and roll of the throat. There is new intent in these words and Lance can feel it burn him, slamming into his body with impressive force. It only stops when something bright flashes behind him, bringing with it a blinding light and cool wind.

The demon prince looks up with a face turned to vicious anger, horns on their forehead growing sharper. There is an exchanging of words but Lance is lost to the torment in his body, a warring grip on sanity that threatens to send him to his knees. But he isn't so far gone that he doesn't see the way the demon prince suddenly turns their body, eyes focusing on him with clarity.

Fear seizes Lance's heart but he can't even scream as he's grabbed, the demon's hand scorching his own just as someone else tugs him back, soft fingers gripping tight. His palm is torn from the prince's and he feels an arm surround his abdomen, holding strong. But the demon prince only looks pleased, skin tearing and bleeding as sharp teeth finally show themselves.

Seconds before Lance is taken away, he realizes the prince is grinning.

That he believes he has won.

 

* * *

 

 _"I love you."_ His mom whispers, body wispy and misty in memory. He is laying in bed as a child, arms holding tight to a poorly stitched bear. _"You are so brave,_ _Lance_."

"Mom?" Lance's voice echoes but his younger self doesn't move, already fast asleep.

He remembers nights like that, when the world felt safe, when he _was_ safe. With a whirl, the memory fades away. More and more take its place, bits of his life playing like an old-timed movie. His birthdays, the birth of his little sister, the way the door slammed when his father left them. There is his dog and him playing in the surf, froth and salt water drying on his skin: his friends, his family, his first girlfriend, first boyfriend, the taste of garlic knots on his tongue-

Then there is the breach. Sirens go off in the city, the kind that usually alert the public to find safety with the threat of a tornado. Only the long, drawn out siren is too late. He's back in the middle of the chaos, demonic screeches at his back, people screaming and crying all around. He stands in the middle of the ghostly city, buildings covered in this strange dream-mist, faces blurred and unrecognizable. They surge around him, creating a path as he turns to see the rift.

The terror he felt then, he feels again now. As if he hasn't been fighting tooth and nail for years, as if he isn't one of the best demon killers in the nation, he can feel his skin grow clammy with panic.

Demons attack the people around him, biting their heads clean off their shoulders, stabbing them with sharp tails and sharp nails, gorging themselves on their guts. They ignore Lance as if they can't see him: all except one.

He wonders if it followed him to this strange place. It could be possible that the demon prince had a defect, one underling that didn't listen to his orders and simply wanted to kill Lance no matter the cost. Lance grounds himself and feels his gun in his hand, suddenly sitting heavy against his palm. It's familiar and it's welcome, settling the panic he'd begun to fear would never leave.

But just as he takes aim, just as the demon reaches his bullet range, the ground opens up beneath them. He falls fast and he falls hard, breath sucked from his lungs. His body is thrown to the wind, colors becoming blinding as the veil is warped, as time begins to reverse. Memories are in fast motion, voices and faces a spasm. He fears this will never stop, that the demon struggling to reach him will thrust a bony, rotting hand through his stomach before he can gain his bearings. Though soon, with a loud boom and a dark wash over his eyes, he finds himself slamming into something solid. It cracks and explodes, splintering from the violence, yet he feels nothing in his body break.

Miraculously, as the dust begins to settle, he is alive.

 

* * *

 

**-K-**

 

Keith doesn't expect much to happen now that the work day is done. He's in his tattoo shop: normal. He's cleaning his leather chair, organizing his ink: normal.

What _isn't_ normal is the way his roof becomes a fucking war zone.

Tiles fall and lights go out, wires torn and sparking from sockets. He shouts and holds up his tattoo gun as if it could do anything to protect him, the dust and drywall making his eyes blur and sting. He blinks fast, hand shaking as a strange clicking noise rises in the aftermath. It sounds like breaking bones and clicking tongues, like a bug with pincers that want to slice at his throat. It's an instinctual fear that builds in his stomach, something that shouldn't be familiar but still is.

Something skitters and he whips his body to the right, seeing a hunched shadow pass near the front door, coming closer.

"Hello?" He calls, tattoo gun growing a bit more steady. "Who-"

Just then, with impressive force, he is knocked from his feet. He lands on his tattoo chair and feels it become uprooted, the steel legs cracking the tile as it lifts from the force. Four arms surround him, nails piercing the leather, razor sharp teeth gnashing at his face.

Keith doesn't scream. The instinctual fear turns to instinctual defense and he brings the tattoo gun up, the sharp needle piercing the creature's flesh. It shrieks, drool and blood dripping onto Keith's face. Six eyes go wide but there are no pupils, only a demonic glow, like magma rising. The teeth increase in number, the hollow of its throat becoming a vortex. And Keith knows that in a moment he will probably be eaten alive.

He lifts a leg, intent on giving one last push before the inevitable.

But soon, a deafening shot rings out. Brains and blood explode all over him, warm, thick and heavy. It gets into his mouth, drenches his hair. The creature shudders, mouth gaping seconds before it is thrown to the side. Its limbs slide across Keith's abdomen, leaving behind a trail of slime and decay. It falls with a splat, body twitching on the tile.

And as Keith looks up, he stares into the blue eyes of a boy. He's covered in as much gore as Keith, his brown skin dirty and his mouth pressed into a serious line. A gun is left smoking in his grip, the barrel hot from where it pressed into the creature's skull. He holds out a hand and Keith takes only a moment to grab hold, allowing the boy to help him sit up from his previous petrified slump.

"You good?" The boy asks, voice surprisingly nonchalant given the horrific circumstances.

Keith nods, just once, before vomiting all over the his shoes.


	2. Which Side Are You On?

 

Keith stares at the boy with distrust, watching as he digs into a burger with little care for the corpse on the floor. He chews fast, eyes fluttering with each bite. They haven't spoken for the last thirty minutes, long enough for Keith to wipe his mouth and agree to find the boy something to eat regardless of his questionable appearance. Luckily, fast food never closes in a city as big as this. He supposes it's the least he could do, considering the guy just saved his fucking life.

"You wan' some?" He suddenly asks, holding out a fry.

Keith just shakes his head, stomach still rolling at the smell lingering in the air. It's sharp against his nose and he rubs at it, fingers still a bit shaky. His shop is a mess and he's cursing the destroyed chair, the black leather ripped to spill the white fabric inside. Still, he sits on it with heavy legs.

"S'good as fuck." The boy sniffs and gulps down his soda, groaning at the fizz in his throat. "You know how long it's been since I had food like this?" Before Keith can answer, he continues, "Too long, that's how long. This is like, heaven. I mean, if heaven existed, but you know what I mean."

Keith doesn't know what he means. On the contrary, he has no clue what the hell is going on at all.

"Who are you?" He asks again, the last three times left unanswered.

The boy slides his eyes to Keith, sharp and fast. He studies Keith and though he's been at ease, Keith can see the hint of concealed violence beneath his skin. One wrong shift and he'd probably pounce, bullet flying toward Keith's skull.

But when Keith doesn't move, the boy relents.

"Name's Lance." He swallows and pushes the fast food wrapper off of his lap. He lets his head rest against the wall, neck stretched, but keeps his gaze on Keith. "You?"

"Uh, Keith."

"Got a last name?"

"Do you?"

The boy smirks then, a dimple rising on his left cheek. "Touché ."

Keith runs a hand through his hair, feeling clumps that he'd rather not reflect on. The last thing he needs is to think about brain gunk and torn skin nestled against his scalp.

"Mind finally telling me what the fuck just happened?" He snaps, feeling his patience thin.

The shock is wearing off, he can feel it falling away.

Lance hums, "That, my dear Keith, was your first encounter with a roach."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"At least, that's what we call them. Me and my friends, I mean." He glances at the corpse, "They run around like roaches, just begging for us to step on them. Or put a bullet in them. Whichever comes first."

"You aren't really answering my question."

Lance rolls his eyes, "I'm from the future."

Silence falls. Keith can't find the will to speak, let alone believe what he's hearing. Which, in the grand scheme of things, is probably stupid. He almost had his face eaten off, for fucks sake.

"The future." He eventually repeats.

"Yup." Lance shrugs and yawns, "And let me tell you, it isn't all flying cars and chrome and robots. It's fucking hell on earth. Literally."

Keith glances at the creature on the floor, distaste heavy on his tongue. "So is that...?"

"Demon." Lance groans and gets to his feet, nudging the body with his foot. "Lower class, by the look of it. Just a grunt."

Keith wipes at his face, squeezing his eyes shut beneath his palm. He takes a deep, long breath through his nose and when he looks up, Lance is staring at him with something akin to pity.

"Don't look at me like that."

Lance shifts his eyes, "You gonna be alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying." Lance walks closer, lowering himself until he's squatting at Keith's knees. When Keith peeks from between his fingers, he meets Lance's inquisitive gaze. "I was like you at first. Scared shitless, thinking none of it could be real. But I got over that fear. Eventually."

He smiles ruefully, looking up at Keith from beneath thick lashes.

"This doesn't make sense." Keith sighs and lowers his hands, looking at the blood staining his nails. "You just...just _fell_ through my fucking ceiling from the sky and saved my ass and ate a burger with a demon laying dead on the floor and..and-"

"Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in."

"You think?"

Lance's smile weakens but it doesn't fade completely, "I can try to explain everything to you. Tell you about it all, from the beginning. But it's gonna take time and you're not gonna want to believe any of it."

"We have time." Keith looks at the mess surrounding them, "Because I'm not letting you go _anywhere_ until you fix my fucking shop."

 

* * *

 

**-L-**

 

One thing Lance should have expected after waking up in Keith's shop is that he'd have to ask if he could stay with him indefinitely. He has no money, no licenses or identification, nothing to suggest that he's a citizen at all. Luckily, Keith seems mostly okay with the idea of him sticking around.

"My apartment is shit, by the way." He says, watching as Lance nails one side of a thick blue tarp to the roof. Keith is on the other side, holding down the plastic to ward off the wind.

"Dude. You have no idea how much I _don't_ care. I'll sleep on the ground and it'd be an upgrade from where I was." Lance finishes and pulls the tarp taught on the other side, making sure there is no room for it to droop or leak. "You'll hear no complaints from me."

"Where you're from.." Keith bites at his lip, "It's basically still earth, right?"

Lance shrugs, "I guess."

"So humans aren't completely wiped out by these things, then."

Lance grimaces and sets the nails aside, meeting Keith's eye for a fleeting second. When he gets back to work he continues, "There are groups that specialize in killing as many roaches as we can, protecting pockets of people that can't fight. But there are some of us who work _with_ them, too."

Keith furrows his brows, "What?"

"Human's have always been drawn to sides, haven't we? Some think they're full of light, delusional to the belief that they'll eventually be saved, blindly following something they think is purer and more powerful than themselves. And some think that the world is already lost, so why not join those that revel in the dark? Why not have some fun since everything's already fucked up?"

"Which side are you on?" Keith asks.

Keith watches him, probably noticing the way he glances down at his hand, the way he clenches his jaw. His palm is seared but he hides it well, using the torn sleeve of his jacket to wrap around the knuckles. Lance hasn't studied his flesh yet and he'll be the first to admit that the thought of seeing what has been burned there makes his skin crawl.

"I fall somewhere in the middle, I think. Neither too much one or the other." Lance finishes setting the tarp. When he stands, he tilts his head in thought. "What about you?"

Keith looks up at him, dark hair framing his face. In the early morning light Lance is a bit taken aback, knowing the boy was cute even when covered in guts in the dark. But now that he's looking up at Lance, his face wiped as clean as it can be by his sleeves, he looks even better. It's been a long time since Lance has felt a flutter in his stomach but he swears that beneath all of his distrust and anger, it is suddenly there. That it is a small flame, eager to grow.

Lance raises a brow, "Well?"

"I dunno." Keith finally stands and follows Lance down the ladder, the steps creaking beneath their weight. "I've never really thought about it."

Lance smirks as they go inside, glad that the rising sun can provide light. It bounces off of the windows, glittering against broken glass and spilled ink. Keith stares at the destruction, looking ill.

"You never told me why you got sent back in the first place." Keith mutters, bending to pick up a shattered bottle. "And who sent you."

"I thought I'd keep the conversation light for a while, you know? Talk about all the gritty details later, after we get some sleep."

Keith rolls his eyes, "I don't think we'll be sleeping for a while." He glances at Lance, contemplative. "Or at least I won't. If you want you can go lay down in the back office while I talk to the police."

"Police?" Lance raises a sharp brow, "Uh, buddy? There's a fuckin' demon on your floor. How're you gonna explain that?"

As if suddenly remembering it was there, Keith looks at the body and his shoulders slump. He brings a hand to his nape, tugging at his hair.

"We could toss it in a dumpster?" He suggests.

Lance places a hand on his hip, finger tapping at his chin. He looks around, noticing the lack of flammable substances and space for open fire. And when he glances outside he knows that the city will be waking soon, no doubt eager to start the day. All in all, this would be the absolute last place to burn a corpse; especially one that will smell as bad as this.

"Do you have a car?" Lance asks, noticing only a small framed motorcycle sitting on the curb.

Keith shakes his head, "No."

"Well we need a car." Lance strides forward and kicks the demon onto its back, staring at the gaping mouth and splattered brain. "And paint. Lots of paint."

 

* * *

 

**-K-**

 

"Before you freak out, I can explain." Keith holds Pidge by her shoulders, trying to keep her inquisitive gaze from the boy standing behind him. Lance waits by the door to the tattoo shop, arms crossed and eyes shut. If not for the small smirk on his lips one would think he's asleep.

"Why the fuck do you smell so bad?" Pidge asks, "Did you fall into a vat of toxic waste? Is that guy holding you hostage? What happened to your shop-"

"I can explain." Keith repeats. "But you can't freak out."

Pidge just stares at him, brown eyes narrowed behind her glasses. They've been friends for six years and Keith still squirms when she looks at him like that, all assessing and judging. But he steels himself and delves into the the last few hours with detail, watching as she goes through the motions of disbelief.

"You're fuckin' with me." She scoffs, eyes shooting back to Lance. "It's not even Halloween yet, dude. This is just lame."

"Pidge, if I were joking I'd be laughing. You know I can't hold a straight face against you for shit."

"I'm still not convinced." She crosses her arms, "You know if you want to use my car for," She lowers her voice to a whisper, "a _date_ , you can just ask, right?"

Keith gapes, eyes wide. But before he can deny her accusation, Lance sidles up and wraps an arm around his waist. He doesn't hold Keith tight and if Keith wanted to step away he could.

"As pretty as Keith is," Lance sounds amused, "we _aren't_ going on a date." He slips his arm away and motions toward the shop. "But if you want proof you can just go look. The roach is still on the floor."

"Roach." Pidge deadpans, "A bug?"

Lance grins, "Same difference."

Pidge passes them with a grumble, the little ring of the door as it opens taking up the momentary silence.

"She's not a morning person, is she?" Lance waits, and Keith wonders if he's counting down the seconds until the explosion.

When it comes, Keith can only wince.

Pidge isn't one to get scared easily. On more than one occasion she's usually the one to do the scaring, finding glee in making Keith jump or her brother scream. But when she runs from the shop, she immediately grabs hold of Keith, her arms wrapping around him like a vise.

"What the fuck?" She gasps, gagging on bile from the stench. "Keith, what the _fuck_ is that thing?"

Lance sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Look, I know this is all really fucked up and weird. But if we don't get rid of the body soon the whole city will be puking in the gutters-"

"Just give her a fucking minute." Keith snaps.

Almost instantly, Lance quiets. His mouth thins and his eyes soften, just a little, before returning to tough blue crystal. He nods before turning back to the shop, saying something about wrapping the demon in left over tarp.

"What the fuck." Pidge whispers again, fingers trembling where they hold tight to Keith's shirt.

"I know." Keith says.

"How are you even alive?" Pidge asks, leaning back to stare at his blood stained face. "That thing seriously tried to eat you?"

Keith nods.

"And that guy-" She shifts her eyes, quiets her voice, "he just shows up out of nowhere and talks about the future and demons? How do you know he didn't bring that thing here on purpose?"

"He saved my life." Keith tries to calm her, reminding her of Lance's heroics. "He could've let it kill me but he didn't. He shot it point blank."

"So does that make you trust him?" She asks, meeting Keith's eye. Her own gaze is wide with shock but he can still recognize the turning wheels, the way she's thinking about this entire situation like a numerical problem.

"I don't know. Maybe." He says, "I think I need to trust him if what he's saying is true. Maybe...maybe he was sent to my shop for a reason."

Pidge stares at Keith and takes a deep, long breath. He knows she's weighing her options, probably debating whether or not she's dreaming. But when she lets the breath out, she's seemingly made up her mind. "We'll take my car. But if he so much as lays one finger on you again, I won't hesitate to pepper spray him."

 

* * *

 

**-L-**

 

Lance listens to the pair talk while he sits in the back seat, knee jumping as they drive through the desert. The city he winded up in is on the outskirts of Arizona, where the horizon is never ending and blinding during midday. He stole some sunglasses from the console of Pidge's car before they left but it still does little to keep him from flinching from bright bursts of light. Three years without actual sunshine can really fuck you up, he supposes.

Pidge laughs and Keith chuckles and Lance tries to pay attention. He really does. But he can't help staring ahead, taking in the world without carnage and death. It's beautiful and he can't believe he'd forgotten what it looked like, all clear skies and gorgeous blue and rocks that let lizards bathe in the sun. It's breathtaking and it's peaceful and it breaks his heart to pieces. 

"So we just have to light it on fire, right?" Pidge suddenly asks, tearing Lance from his thoughts.

He clears his throat and nods, "Right."

"It's that simple?"

Lance shrugs, "You just worry about placing the wood. I'll do the rest."

Keith looks into the rear view mirror but Lance knows he can't see his eyes. The sunglasses keep him hidden, giving him a faux sense of privacy in the small boxy interior. The boy stares at him for a good while before looking away, returning to the conversation.

Lance is feeling the affects of his travel through time with a rolling, thick sickness. He gulps it down and wipes at the bead of sweat on his forehead, a flash of memory running sharp through his mind. For a moment he hears Tif shouting his name and the tires crunching over rocks are instead the breaking of bones; Sam is nodding along to the music and he throws a grin at Lance, the burn scars on his cheek looking shiny and smooth. 

But as they finally come to a stop, the memory is wiped clean. He shakes himself from his stupor and gets out of the car with a blessed intake of air, quickly walking to the trunk to lean on the hot metal. His fingers burn and his palm aches but the wrapping is holding strong. He flexes his fingers, knuckles tight.

"Pidge is about to pop the hood."

Lance looks up fast, practically ripping himself away from the car. He licks his dry lips and nods, just once. Keith continues to look at him even as he ties his black hair back with a thick rubber band, a few strands refusing to remain complacent in the bun. It's a bit unnerving, feeling Keith's stare on him. Lance doesn't know if he particularly enjoys it, the way he feels watched, as if the boy could possibly care about his well-being so soon after meeting.

The moment the hood pops Lance reaches inside, busying himself with what is normal to him. He hefts the body to his shoulder and uses his knees to hold up the weight, ignoring Keith's willingness to help. Pidge has already placed a bundle of wood on the ground and Lance lets the demon's body fall on top with a whoosh, logs splintering. He quickly accepts one of the buckets of paint and a large brush, glad that the patch of land they picked isn't complete sand.

"Stand back." He orders, already dipping the brush into the red paint.

Then he gets to work.

Drawing the symbols of hellfire can take time. He tries to recall every curve and twist, arm moving languidly as he circles the body. He connects one side to the other, letting paint drip all around. Hair falls into his eyes and he pushes the fringe back, the buzzed undercut the only relief to the heat of the sun on his back.

"Where'd you learn this?" Pidge asks, interrupting his concentration.

Lance glances up at her, "My friend Maria. She knew a shit ton about this stuff. Even before the rift opened, she studied ancient symbols, demonic testaments and biblical theory."

"So she's a pro, huh?" Pidge sounds excited, "I wanna meet her."

Lance frowns, "Not gonna happen. She's dead."

Keith shifts in Lance's peripheral but it's only a single step forward. He's smart enough to stay back as Lance finishes, ignoring the flash of pain in his chest. It's sharp as a barb, a thorn or molten knife. Saying the words out loud to anyone other than Tif or Sam just doesn't feel right.

"I'm sorry." Keith says, quiet enough that if Lance were further away, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Lots of people are dead." Lance stands and surveys his work, voice thick from emotions he'd rather keep buried deep. "My family. My friends. Probably you guys, too."

At this, Pidge makes a strangled noise. It's pulled from her throat but Lance pretends he didn't hear it, if only because she turns her face away in embarrassment.

"Okay. This is finished." Lance grabs the match box from his pocket, "Once this roach burns there's no way it can come back. No resurrection. No pit stop in hell before making another visit. It'll just be gone."

And with that, the match is lit. It flares bright before he throws it onto the pyre, the logs lighting almost immediately. He takes several steps back and grabs Keith's wrist on instinct, urging him to get away too. The moment they're safe from the blaze, Lance lets go.

The fire grows to incredible height, burning hot and true against the backdrop of the desert. For a while the fire is mostly normal, red and yellow and blue at the base. But soon it transforms, only the very tips remaining white. The rest is midnight black, space-between-the-stars dark, embers falling like ash.

Lance turns away before it's done, leaving the two of them to watch as long as they like. He simply walks back to the car and gets inside fast, feeling his legs shake against the leather seats. With a shuddering sigh, exhaustion bears strong on his body. He turns and lowers himself against the seat, letting his shoulder find the cushion, eyes blurring. At some point Pidge and Keith return, letting in a wash of warm air. But before the engine can even start, he's fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

**-K-**

 

Keith watches Lance sleep with his own slow blinks, hoping it doesn't look as creepy as he feels it does. Pidge is asleep in his room and Keith is settled on the floor, blankets piled to feign a comfortable bed.

But he still can't sleep.

Lance started making noises an hour ago, a short time after Keith carried him inside and placed him on his old couch. At first, Keith thought the boy was just dreaming. But as time wore on and the noises didn't stop even after Keith had taken a long shower, he found himself worried that the boy would do something drastic in his sleep: like grab the gun on the floor and start shooting with wild abandon. So, Keith carefully took the gun to the kitchen and decided to keep an eye on him, just to be sure. Just to be safe.

Now, Keith tries to decipher his words. They are a flowing string of a language he has never heard, the syllables twining together, sounding ancient and frightening. Lance's breathing has picked up pace and his left hand clenches over and over, the makeshift bandage he'd wrapped around his palm becoming loose. With a gulp, Keith gets to his feet and makes his way to the boy, wondering if he should try to wake him. Maybe place a cool cloth on his forehead like Pidge used to do when Keith would wake up in the night from his own terrors.

But just as Keith steps close enough to reach out, Lance shoots up. He grabs hold of Keith's neck and stands fast, pushing at him until the wall meets his back. His eyes are wild and unseeing. There is a strange glow within him, barely there, really. But it's so eerie it makes Keith freeze, something akin to pure fear settling against his spine.

"Lance-" Keith grabs at his wrist, shocked by the strength of his grip. His fingers tighten, making Keith grit his teeth. "Lance, it's me!"

Almost immediately, Lance's eyes clear. He blinks and rips his hand away, looking as distraught as Keith feels.

Keith coughs, words rough as he asks, "Are you okay?"

 _"Me?"_ Lance gapes, "I just...I choked you. I almost _killed_ you and you ask if i'm okay?"

Keith coughs again, the sound choppy. "If you wanted to kill me you'd have to try harder than that."

The joke falls flat.

Lance turns away and falls back to the couch, face covered by his hands. He breathes in and out, shoulders rising and falling. He mumbles numbers, counting from one to twenty until his voice isn't as raw. Until he doesn't look like he's falling apart at the seams. It's such a difference from his earlier cocky demeanor that Keith isn't really sure what to do, for some reason thinking the guy was perfectly fine with the entire situation. But whereas Keith only had one encounter with a demon, he reminds himself that Lance has seen hundreds. That he's lost everything, that he's been thrust back to a time that is safe. But it's apparent now that he still doesn't _feel_ safe, even if Keith's apartment is small and warm and quiet.

"Lance?" He asks, though he keeps his distance.

The last thing he wants to do is crowd him.

Lance looks up at him, apology already written across his face. But before he can say anything Keith is shaking his head and walking to the kitchen, quickly filling a glass of water from the faucet. He brings it to Lance with slow steps, recognizing the tense set of his legs and arms. He sees himself in that body language, the way Lance has defenses up.

"I know what it feels like, waking up from something that tears you apart." Keith urges Lance to take the water and is glad when he does. He gulps fast, eyes fluttering shut as Keith continues, "I don't know if I trust you. It's hard for me to trust anyone, really. But I _want_ to trust you. And I think that trust could start right here. Right now."

Lance lowers the glass, confused. "Anyone else would send me away. They'd go to therapy and chalk all of this up to a very, very strange dream. They'd be happy if I left so that this problem didn't involve them anymore."

"I think this became my problem the second you crashed through my roof." Keith smirks, a pleased heat growing in his stomach when Lance's lips twitch upward. 

"You know, when I saved you from the roach I thought you'd be...different." Lance admits.

Keith flushes, turning so he can hide it as he sits on his blankets. "What do you think about me now?"

Lance takes a moment to reply, leaning forward to set the cup on the coffee table. Eventually, however, he says, "I think you're a very pleasant surprise, Keith."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The effects of what the prince did to him is already starting show up. Will lance turn into a demon? ;) Hopefully he can find a cure. (But he usually isn't so lucky.) ((And he really doesn't want Keith to know about the curse...so..that's a pretty big secret, I guess.)) Also, Keith has gone through some bad shit. This will be brought up later.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are super appreciated. hope you had fun!


End file.
